


The Line Between Mistake And Design

by riddellsqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1940s, AU, Detective Noir, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddellsqueen/pseuds/riddellsqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Dean Winchester has lost his way since the betrayal of his last partner and policing board has decided he could do with some 'stability'. They assign him a new partner, Detective Castiel Novak.<br/>Their first case, a Jane Doe, may have seemed like a simple case but the more they dig the deeper they fall in. Suddenly they're mixing with the city's most dangerous families and Dean doesn't know if he can keep them both safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line Between Mistake And Design

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first big piece of work. At the minute i'm not working off a schedule and i'll upload new stuff wherever i can.  
> I'd really appreciate any feedback you guys have too! thanks x

The clouds were dense and hung low over the greyscale city. It would rain soon, Dean Winchester acknowledged as he weaved through the sea of pedestrians to get to the police department. 

Dean nodded to the officer seated at the reception desk and climbed the stairs. He entered his office after his two week absence finding it the same as how he left it.  
The room was dark as light struggled through the two grimy arched windows that framed one the walls, which overlooked the main street. The wall behind the detective’s desk had a smaller window, intended to be the fire escape that faced the building to the right of the department.

Shutting the door behind him, he took off his coat and threw, rather than hung, it on the nearby coat stand.  
Dean sat down at his regular desk, though since his partner left two years ago, he’d had the luxury of two. For the detective, it was hard to break old habits so the desk which faced his own remained bare, completely untouched.  
Dean pulled open a desk drawer and fished out a packet of cigarettes and a near empty bottle of Jack. The clock on the wall read 4.25 but the day was going slow so a drink sooner, rather than later was preferable.  
As he lit a cigarette, drawing long on the rough fumes, he inspected his desk. 

On the left was a stack of old or unfinished cases. Each one telling a sad story about some dreamer who’d got lost in the crowd or a desperate man cornered at the wrong time. Between Janes and Johns the detective had wound a path through the filth of the city to find hidden truths and maintain some form of distorted justice.  
Yellowing pages fluttered across the dark wood, covering most of its surface. On the right side of his desk was a lamp. Lying underneath it was a picture frame, facing downwards.  
Dean knew that if he were to pick it up, he would see a black and white picture of Lisa, taken some years ago, one some summer afternoon in some distant city. She’d have her head thrown back in a long sweet laugh, her dark curls cascading down her bare shoulders. Though her eyes were closed he knew that they’d sparkle a deep brown. If Dean were to pick up the frame, he’d see the glass broken and a lick of his blood on a small fragment.  
He didn’t pick it up. Instead he picked up the bottle of whiskey, glasses being a formality long since forgotten, and brought it to his lips.  
No sooner had the whiskey punched the back of his throat in that nearly perfect way, when his office door was thrown open and Captain Singer stalked in. 

“Captain.” Dean greeted nonplussed, uncaring of what Singer may think of his drinking habits. He knew the old dog needed him and for that he could get away with such on the job vices. 

“Welcome back Winchester, I trust your leave of absence helped clear the cobwebs from your melon?”  
Dean could see the Captain eyeing him, assessing the damage. 

“I’m guessing you called in for more than just to check up on how I’m feeling?” 

Captain Singer shifted his weight from foot to foot and seemed to want to look everywhere but Dean’s general direction. Dean studied him casually as he drew on his cigarette, letting the smoke ooze from his mouth. 

“Before I say anything son, you gotta know, this ain’t my doing. I know you’re good at your job and it ain’t my business to interfere unless it’s in the matter of law.” Singer paused, trying to find the right words but drawing a blank. “I been talking to the board and they ain’t happy with you.”

“Like I give a damn in Hell if I’m popular with the board Captain.” Dean threw back, resting a foot on his desk. 

“You don’t get it kid. Half of them think you’re a wildcard that shouldn’t be allowed a badge and the other half think you should be put in a nice padded room. It took me all my god damn time to make them give you a second chance. People who do what you did don’t just get to walk away without taking a few hits, and two weeks suspension don’t cut it.”

“What are you saying Bobby, am I being dismissed or something?” Dean questioned, throwing his foot down to lean over the desk, his hand clenching around the bottle until his knuckles turned white. 

“No, you’re back in but you… they say you need stability.”

“Stability?”

“Someone to keep you on the straight and narrow.” 

“I don’t like where this is going Bobby.” 

“Yeah well neither do I, but a deal’s a deal. You’re getting a new partner.” 

Dean shoved his chair away leaving it to clatter to the ground as he threw the nearly empty bottle of Jack over the Captain’s head. It shattered against the wall spraying the green paint with whiskey. 

“You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m shacking up again. Like hell!” Dean yelled, pointing a finger at the Captain.

“It’s temper tantrums like this that are the reason they’re making you have one.” The captain yelled back with as much anger. “You think this ain’t a public spanking for the both of us?! My name’s as deep in the dirty as yours is Winchester, so you’re gonna suck this up and play with the other kids. Or I’ll throw you out the doors myself. Capisce?”

Dean paced the room, his breathing deep and slow. His hand scraped through his hair as he heaved out a sigh. 

“Rock and a hard place. Damn you Bobby.” Dean mumbled. 

“That’s Captain to you, Winchester.”

“When’s the meet and greet?” 

“He’s on his way up in the elevator. I want you in my office in two minutes, a case just came in less than an hour ago.”

“Now? We’re doing this now? But it’s-“

“I don’t wanna hear it, my office, two minutes. And clean this crap of a place.” 

 

*******

 

Dean Winchester ran a handkerchief over his forehead. The formal affair made sweat gather at the nape of his neck. 

“Sweatin’ like a sinner in Church?” Singer inquired. 

“I don’t like this Bobby, how is it you know nothin’ bout the guy?”

“All’s the board said was he hailed from Los Angles, been reallocated.”

Dean replied with a grunt. He wasn’t in the mood for the board’s games. He’d rather they throw him on the street than parade him around like a scolded child. Dean would throw himself out if it wasn’t for the fact that the job was the only thing keeping him sane. It was funny, he supposed, the crooked ways should keep him straight.  
He was pulled from his inner thoughts when a figure appeared on the other side of the door, his silhouette showing through the frosted glass.  
There was a moment’s pause between the figure appearing and the door knob turning. The door opened and Detective Novak entered. 

Dean didn’t know what he was expecting, perhaps some roughened bastard who was past his prime and bitter about it. Instead he saw a pair of bright blue eyes. The detective was tall, though still shorter than Dean. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt with a dark blue tie and his black hair was neatly combed. Over one arm was a tan coat and in his hand was a grey fedora.  
He walked forward with his shoulders slightly hunched. Dean thought he looked rather timid and was expecting for the man to be softly spoken with a gentle voice.  
Instead he was greeted with a deep, husky voice that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand to attention. 

“Captain Singer, my name is Castiel Novak. I was instructed to report to you.” 

Bobby reached across his desk to shake the man’s hand. 

“Novak,” he said, “I’d like you to meet your new partner, Detective Dean Winchester.”

Novak’s gaze centred on Dean and the detective suddenly knew what it felt like to be a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. His gaze reminded Dean of a painting he’d once saw in a museum, it was so long ago he’d forgotten the painter, and most of the details. However he’d never forget the twists and curls of endless blue, of how the stars bled into the sky. It was beautiful. Suddenly Dean was pulled from his reverie when he realised that the man had his hand out expectantly. 

“Uh- yes it’s good to meet you.” Dean mumbled, grasping Novak’s hand. 

“Now that we got the formalities out of the way,” the Captain said. He reached into his desk and pulled out two badges, tossing them onto the desk, “Novak, I’ve been informed that you’re used to our mandatory gun.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Captain Singer handed Castiel a short barrel colt and a leather holster. 

“Dean I kept yours like I said I would though I don’t know why, God damn pimp gun.” Bobby grumbled as he handed Dean his 1911 Colt, nickel plated with mother of pearl handles. 

Dean picked it up and slotted it into his holster, feeling a little more back to normal. 

“Okay so, first assignment, called in at two thirty this afternoon not too far from here. Girl’s body was found crammed into a diner’s dumpster, that’s all I got on the matter, anything else is in the file and first responders can let you know more.” Bobby said, handing Dean a folder.  
The Captain sat back and crossed his arms, clearly the conversation was over. The partners left his office without another word pulling on their coats and preparing to brace the harsh November rain. 

As they stepped outside the building, Castiel turned to Dean, waiting. Dean scanned the file he’d been given, the scene was four blocks away. 

“Yeah we can take my car,” He said as he scratched at his jaw. Dean crossed the road and Castiel followed to where to car was parked. Dean smiled as he saw his baby.  
“Beauty ain’t she?” He smiled proudly, “’47 chevy fleetline, fresh as a daisy, was savin up for a place but who needs a roof over their head anyway.” 

Castiel said nothing, just waited for Dean to unlock the door. 

Dean had to admit the guy was beginning to creep him out. He was too intense, too quite. Dean felt the need to fill the air between them with empty words until they reached their destination.


End file.
